


The Midnight Ballad

by bemoschafer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:43:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemoschafer/pseuds/bemoschafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In John's building every night a violinist plays a heart breaking song, he knows nothing of the man above him other than his outrageously amazing talents bring him solace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Midnight Ballad

**Author's Note:**

> First Johnlock fic, let me know if its any good xo

A light breeze danced with the open window's curtains, along with the cool air that had seeped into the stifling apartment, a pale glow of the moon's light cast shadows across the floor. It was far too hot and miserable to sleep; John had attempted resting and tossed and turned within the sheets for hours but had no such luck. His body was sluggish with the day’s energy that had been spent, but yet his eyes didn't feel heavy.  
Another wisp of cool air filled the room, a long weeping note of strings was carried in and the curtains trembled, he sighed lightly as the breeze kissed his skin and sunk more into the chair, his own personal orchestra had just begun.

John didn't know it but there was another reason why he couldn't rest, almost every day for the past week a heart-aching cry of the violin had echoed into his home. Not that he minded, but several nights ago he had cracked, work was stressful and there was no one there for him when he came home. Loneliness was creeping into his heart and an overwhelming weight pressed into his shoulders, he had dragged himself home and sat in his chair with only a tissue for company as he lost himself in an ocean of his own sorrow. 

That’s when he first heard it, the sweet yet mournful long drag of the first call of a violin. His heart skipped and the tissue had been dropped as if it had weight more than an anchor, he stood up from his chair and rushed out to the balcony, the sound was all around him and he couldn't make out where the musician could be. It sounded so close and yet was too far away, no one was out on the street so it had to have been someone in the building. He stayed planted in his spot, for fear that any more movement than his chest fluttering with breath the music would stop. His eyes closed and one last tear left his eyes to stream down his cheek and hit the floor, he felt so light and... Free. Like the gravity of his sorrow no longer had its hold on him, like he could have spread his arms and flown away with the notes that the wind carried far out into London.

The weeps of the violin had softened before coming to a stop and he shivered lightly as he came back down to earth feeling revived. He stayed in his spot in hope the violinist would play one more song but gave up when he became too cold; he went to bed and had slept soundlessly, the best he had in weeks.  
And now here he sat, a week later sweaty and anxiously waiting to hear his unknown player start his ballad.  
Just like the first night a long crying tone started off the song, John sat in his chair holding his breath with his fists holding handfuls of his robe.  
The same song as every other night played, what he didn't notice was it turned out longer every time the violinist played.

The ballad continued and John had leaped from his chair to stand outside with his arms out from his sides and his head tilted up as he listened carefully to the familiar melody.  
The wind picked up and tore apart the loose knot on his robe as it fluttered in the breeze leaving his chest bare.  
He smiled widely as he felt freedom replacing the sadness that haunted his core and being filled with hope, that really anything was possible and happiness was within his grasp if only he reached out to it.  
All too soon the song ended and John had already knew another wouldn't be played until the next night and he went back inside, no longer feeling restless but instead more than ready for sleep and for the events that could come tomorrow.  
He wiggled back into bed and flipped his pillow over onto the cool side before drifting off to a well needed rest.

The next morning John sprung out of bed and ate his favorite breakfast, toast with his best jam that was followed with eating spoonful’s of the sweet fruit. Work was better than usual and he smiled more, even his sickly patients couldn't bring his high spirits down. Hell, he felt alive and awake even without his early morning coffee or his afternoon tea.  
All through out the day his favorite violinist's tune constantly played in his head, once or twice he caught himself whirling around and almost requesting that the receptionist should waltz with him throughout the building. The rest of the day breezed by without an issue and he couldn't have been happier. 

Upon going home he walked rather than calling a cab to take a break and observe the changing environment, the trees leaves were turning into all different shades of crimson and gold, some blew through the air as they had broke from the trees grasp, children in the park chased after them and giggled as they had tickled their hands when they failed to capture them, all the more making their game entertaining. The air was sweet with the scent of pumpkin seasonal pastries and a chilly breeze teased his nose with the feeling of an oncoming sneeze. He had observed things with new eyes and could see past the grey cloud that hazed over the brightness of things, he felt all these things all because of a midnight players prelude.

John made it home after an hour's delay in the park and was starving, he prepared a hearty feast for dinner that consisted of steamed veggies, potatoes, roast beef and fresh bread rolls from the bakery from down the block, and to top it all off he prepared marmalade sandwiches for dessert.  
Once everything had finished he sat down and served himself a plate, he glanced at the time and it was ten-thirty, any minute now it all should begin... But it didn't.

He sat quietly without taking a single morsel and no sound came from above. His stomach growled and he shook his head, he ate quietly with his ears alert for any sound of footsteps or quiet notes but there was nothing. Had something terrible happened to his talented player? Was he preforming at an orchestra? Surely someone who played so wonderfully shared his gift to the world, it would be pure madness if one didn't. That had to be the case, no question about it.  
But... John frowned at the idea, he couldn't stand imagining his lullaby being played to strangers who didn't appreciate it with as much enjoyment he expressed, they couldn't feel their hearts soaring or the joy replacing the emptiness within him, such people could not understand the meaning that was woven into the notes and caressed in the infinite echo of his mind.

It was his and his alone whether anyone liked it or not, he wanted no one but himself to hear the music even if it was selfish of him to want to possess the work of art that wasn't his to have in the first place. He felt revolted knowing that the person above him probably had wanted privacy to go deep within himself to create the song but unknowingly had an audience. Had that have been him he would have felted stripped and humiliated, maybe it was for the best if he never heard it ever again, he had trespassed over countless invisible lines and didn't deserve to appreciate a stolen song. Disgusted, he hastily put away his leftovers and went to bed.

Three days had passed and John's mood had plummeted down to a new low and all that he would think about was the violinist from upstairs who hadn't made a sound since the other day. He longed to hear him one last time so he could let it rest as a memory and move on but still felt guilty about hearing him at all, yet he listened carefully for anything from above.

He paced the living room going over the same old ground of thoughts, there was one solution to this that didn't involve brainwashing, maybe if he knew why the person upstairs no longer played or if he knew why he started in the first place, and then apologize for listening then he wouldn't feel so dreadful.  
Stopping in his tracks to grab his coat, he came to a decision to go up and meet the player. He bounded up the building's set of stairs and tapped on the door tenth greater than his own door address, the door flung open within a blink. John looked up from the chest at his eye level and to the tall man's face. Misty blue eyes pierced his own gaze and John was speechless, his features were chiseled, symmetrical, and rather handsome.

"Yes?" The man snapped harshly, bringing John back down to earth.  
"H-hi, I um... Are you the, um...?”  
"Spit it out! I don't have time to hear you stuttering all day"  
John shook himself before answering, "Are you the violinist from the other day? I just wanted to know why you stopped... Not that it's any of my business, I was just curious"

"Well curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Watson. I would think you'd know that. Yes, I am the midnight player, why do I play? Because it helps me loosen up from work, I stopped because I no longer need to take my mind off things and also because I have finished composing"  
"Oh... wait, how do you know who I-"  
"Keep up! Your mail at your door leaves no secret to me"  
"Wait, you went through my mail?!"  
He sighed with annoyance and nodded, "If this is all you have to say then I'm going to have to ask you to leave"  
"N-no! I have-"

A loud bang erupted from inside his apartment and oddly colored goo splattered on the wall and dripped to the floor, quickly a rotten stench reached John and his jumper sleeve went up to cover his nose, his face scrunched into a unpleasant expression and he gagged.  
"What is that!?"  
"Oh bloody hell, that was supposed to be my supper"

John looked back at the slime and nearly lost his previous meal,  
"Who in their right mind would eat that?"  
"Obviously it doesn't look like that when it burns, I'd be eating that right now if I didn't answer the door!"  
John shook his head and sighed, whatever that was didn't look edible even if cooked properly.

"I'm sorry, look, I'll buy you a meat pie or something and-"  
"I don't like meat pies" he interrupted with a displeased frown, John sighed and shook his head.  
"Well, what do you want then?"  
He pointed at the mess that was for the most part in a puddle on the floor that would most likely leave a nasty stain.  
"Forget it ok I'm sorry I ruined your dinner, I have some leftover roast at home, I'll make more vegetables and you can have that it'll be an apology of some sort"

He looked at John with narrowed eyes that darted over him, he hesitantly stepped towards him and closed his door.  
"What kind of vegetables?"  
"Potatoes, broccoli, c-"  
"I don't like broccoli" John chuckled under his breath at the man’s response.  
"All right no broccoli, fair enough. Do you want dessert too?" He looked at John intensely once more before shrugging,  
"May as well"  
"I'm sorry but I never caught your name?"  
"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes"

~…~ 

Long after Sherlock had finished his meal and gone home, John sat once again in his chair thinking over the previous events. For sure Sherlock was a bat-shit crazy nut but he liked him, his quirky childish behavior kept him on his toes and always had something interesting to say, whether it was a pointless fact or a story from his job as a consulting detective.  
He would defiantly like to spend more of his time with the man from upstairs. He sat quietly smiling to himself when he heard it, Sherlock had started John's favorite song. John smiled brightly and went to stand outside and immediately he felt the familiar tingling of warm bliss spreading through his stomach and chest.

~…~ 

He stood out on his balcony with his notes on a stand although long before he had memorized them, Sherlock played and played until his fingers stung.

"Thank you!" John called out with a satisfied smile when he had finished.

"No problem, good night!" Sherlock replied before going back inside to put his violin in its proper case. Once it was securely zipped shut he laid down on his sofa with a big puffy comforter, he fluffed up his pillow before nuzzling into the plush material and went to grab the television remote when he paused. Reality shows that were obviously scripted was a decent source of entertainment for when he had nothing else to do but tonight he felt different, insomnia didn't occupy his mind from stopping him sleeping and he didn't feel bored.

If anything he felt somewhat satisfied, he wasn't sure if it was because he had a meal that was cooked perfectly with ingredients that hadn't passed its expiration date. Or perhaps it may have been because John enjoyed his song so much, for once he hadn't been told to quiet down or that he was no good and that his songs lacked any wholesomeness. Or maybe it was both? He made a small mental note that he would have to return the favor and take John out to dinner, it would have made more sense if he cooked himself but he was sure after John saw his spoiled dinner that his confidence in his cooking didn't exist.

He would sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow for his eyes felt too heavy to stay awake any longer, he snuggled into his nest and fell asleep with a small smile on his face.

The End


End file.
